Fallen
by Silmaril Eyes
Summary: Javert encounters Fántine's spirit before he dies. Falling is not as easy as it looks.


_Weirdness once again inspired by rehearsals and insomnia.  
No couplings intended, except for the explicitly stated.  
Dedicated to Robert, of the endlessly clear eyes. My only Javert._  


**Fallen**

It was within a trace he walked to the bridge, his eyes seeing, but not comprehending. The night was cold, but the cold did not pierce him. He was chilled permanantly now.

Shaking hands grasped the railing of the bridge. He stared down at the pitch black waters of the Seine, and sought inwardly for some other feeling than utter turmoil. He raised his eyes to the sky, and could not make out the stars. He let his head drop again.

"Unwhirling," Javert murmured, the sound like the ghost of a darkened and hopeless memory, however, a memory that could not be forgotten.

"Indeed."

He smiled, a silvery, saddened smile, like the moonlight on the river's waters, and did not look up.

"I half-expected you."

A soft tinkle of laughter; not derisive nor vindictive, merely soft. "Why?"

"I do not know."

"Will you not look at me?"

"May I speak freely?"

"You always did with me before. Why on earth should now be any different?"

He did not acknowlege this, though he had heard it. Another shock for his already battered soul -- and indeed, it was battered. Could such a man become like this? All too easily. He was, after all things, human.

"I am afraid," he said, simply, and raised his eyes to the horizon.

"Of me?"

"Quite. And of this world, but this shall not matter for long." Finally, he turned to look at her.

She was utterly breathtaking. He almost could not recognise her. If she had not spoken at first, he would not have registered her as the stick-figure, the horribly decayed woman of the night he had arrested nearly a decade ago. Her hair had grown long, to her waist, and was in silver-blonde curls. Her face had filled out, her eyes were alive, her teeth were once again intact, her body healed of its previous marrings.

His heart may have been made of stone, but he knew beauty when he saw it.

"It comes from within, Monsieur l'Inspector," she said softly, noticing his widened eyes. "Within is all I have, now."

"You...you have not yet left...been taken to..." he shook his head. "You have not yet...passed on?"

Fántine shook her head. "I had to look after someone."

Javert laughed mirthlessly. "Your daughter is in the safest of hands. 24601 is like an angel to watch over her." The very thought made his stomach turn, and he gripped the rail tightly.

"True. But who would look after Valjean?"

He looked at her as if she had gone mad, his eyes glassy and his face haggard. "24601? _24601?!"_

"His name is Valjean," she answered softly. "And yes. One and the same."

"Why?!"

"Why should I not look out for the man I love?"

Javert let out a bark of laughter that may have been a sob.

"Of course. Of _course_. This man...this man who is cursed and blessed. The man who owns the world, who deserves none of it. A thief, a convict, a liar! And here _I_ stand, upon the very edge of the Seine, defeated by the man whom I have hunted, tried beyond all measures to bring to justice--" his voice cracked, and he ducked his head, silvery-gray strands of hair falling in front of his face. His breathing was irregular, coming in gasps.

Fantine was silent, her spectral hair and the skirts of her white gown blowing in the breeze. She watched the fallen Inspector with wide blue eyes and an emotion on the delicate lines of her face that could not be placed.

"Nothing makes sense any longer," Javert whispered hoarsely. His grip on the railing tightened so his knuckles were white. "Everything is--"

"Unwhirling," Fántine supplied. She stepped forward, and with a great tenderness in her eyes, which did little to alleviate the confusion in the Inspector's mind, and let her lithe, white hand trail down his cheek.

"Yes," he mouthed. He did not even have the strength to whisper.

She pressed her lips to his cheek in a pure, chaste kiss, and drew back. Javert could not feel the touch, as such, merely a breath of soft, chilled air and a tingle upon his skin. He looked up at her, bewildered and haggard.

"Tell me what to do. Help me now."

"I cannot. That, m'sieur l'Inspector, is not my task, nor is it my place to do such things."

"Fántine..." Her name sounded so strange, coming from his lips.

She was silent, looking at him with her endless blue eyes. Her daughter had the same eyes, deep and dark, and wonderfully beautiful. She smiled at him softly.

"You and I, we are not as different as we seem. This, Javert, is your choice."

Javert sunk to his knees, staring ahead wildly. "Then I must...I..." he shook his head, and felt fury grip him once more. "I will be _damned_ before I accept pity from 24601 or his _whore!_ Do you hear me? Damned! There is nothing -- _nothing_ -- on this earth that we share, you...you weak spirit, you treacherous illusion. Curse you!"

Summoning the last of his strength, he stood up, and climbed over the railing.

Fántine stood for a moment, then shook her head, sadly.

"Indeed, by the stars," she whispered, and fell with him.

[finis]


End file.
